


For Him We Die

by HoneyJars



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BBC, F/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9178816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyJars/pseuds/HoneyJars
Summary: In Piccadilly Circus in London,  the huge screens above the street were filled with a part-animated image of Jim Moriarty's smiling face with a message beside it, and the voice played over and over again on every speaker.'Did you miss me?''Did you miss me?'Everyone appeared lost, confused, and frightened. Goosebumps appeared on some arms, backs, and necks. Moriarty that covered every screen across Piccadilly Circus and the whole of England.None had noticed the newspapers that were being sold on a corner, or the one that flew across Piccadilly Circus, carried by the wind. It went up and down again, slowly and gently, not noticing the chaos that was slowly drowning the area.The newspaper dropped softly onto the street in front of a pastry shop, the front facing the pavement. The back was facing every human that crossed the street, every animal, yet no one noticed the giant box that filled at least half of the page. It called for help. Two disappearing people, their images printed onto the paper:'Help us locate them.Elisa Barrow and William Barrow.Mother and son.Last seen on December 20.Any information about them, contact the police.Call 101'





	

**31 DECEMBER**

**NEW YEARS EVE**

 

"What about this one?" John asked as he picked up a Cabernet Sauvignon from the white metal shelf.

Mary approached John, passing through the various Tesco deals that hung on the store's hallway. She reached him and wrapped her arm around his waist, squeezing him a little bit. A smile spread across her face, matching the beautiful short and curly blonde hair that was pinned back to keep it off her face.

"Yeah, why not? It's a good wine, and it's Chilean," she rested her head on John's shoulder.

"Do you think they will like it? Or should we take Sparkling Wine?" John picked up another bottle.

Mary chuckled, "Well, they won't like anything if we are late," she kissed him on the cheek, "I will be waiting at the checkout, don't take long, okay?"

He laughed, "It's not hard for you because you are not the one drinking, but yes. I'll be right there."

As Mary turned around and headed to the checkout, John couldn't help but notice how sweet and calm she looked with her bright red cloak and pink scarf wrapped around her. A smile spread across his face, wondering how he could have gotten so lucky to marry that woman who walked down the store aisle. John shook his head, finding it silly that he had been thinking that sort of stuff instead of choosing the drink he would be taking to the New Year party, just like Mary had asked him to.

So what will it be? he thought, his mind wondering once again to his wife and the child she was carrying.

He would soon be a father to a beautiful baby girl. A real father. He wondered how would she look like. What would they do together. Would he read her daughter? Teach her to walk? His mind travelled across all the possible memories, stopping on Sherlock. Oh God, Sherlock. Would he do for a good Godfather? He kept thinking it over and over again, dropping the thought after a while. In any case, it was to early to think about it.

John observed both bottles, settling on the Sparkling Wine as it was more traditional than red wine. Besides, it was cheaper. He liked cheap.

• ¥ •

Sherlock sat back on his black armchair, the tips of his fingers touching each other and his eyes shut. He breathed in slowly, held the breath for a few seconds, and released it. This, he repeated for what seemed an hour. He seemed at peace: no crinkles on his forehead, no stress on his jaw. An unwavering silence drowned the room in 221B Baker Street, giving him a chance to explore his mind palace.

_'Miss me?'_

_'Wrong day to die, Sherlock.'_

_'Come and play.'_

_'Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain.'_

_'You're not ordinary. No. You're me.'_

"Then why can't I see your next move?" Sherlock muttered softly, then the room went back to a deadly silence.

There was a loud knock on the door, followed by the creaking of wood. Sherlock didn't move or flinch, not once. A minute passed and there was another knock, this time louder. And Sherlock still didn't move.

"Sherlock?" John asked raising his voice and knocking again, "Sherlock, do you mind? I have no key."

A sigh escaped John's lips. He shook his head and turned to Mary, "I'll go ask Mrs Hudson for the key, be right back."

"It's fine, John. Really. Listen, I can-"

"It's not fine. Apparently he is too busy and won't open the door. It won't take long, I promise."

He went down to Mrs Hudson's flat and knocked. A fragile and short woman came out wearing a soft lavender dress that reached just below her knees, black stockings, and black polished flats. Her strawberry blonde hair was short, reaching just below her earlobes. The wrinkles that covered her face simply told the story of her great adventures and happiness when she was young. It seemed to John she had been interrupted as she was putting on some gold earrings on her pale earlobes.

"Oh, I'm not ready yet," Mrs Hudson smiled and worked on getting the gold earring on her other ear.

"No, it's fine. I was wondering if you had a spare key. Sherlock seems to have lost himself in his mind palace, again."

"So quickly?" Mrs Hudson kept trying to put on her earring.

"So quickly? Has he been lost all day?" John asked as Mrs Hudson finally locked the earring in place and moved further into the flat to get the key.

"Well, yes. I brought him some tea earlier and he didn't raise his head or mutter a word. I mean, not even a thank you. Poor Sherlock, with that evil man back, he hasn't been able to think of anything else," she finally game back and gave John the key, "Maybe you can get him out, give him a break."

"I'll do my best, I promise. Thank you, Mrs Hudson. We'll see you in a bit," John smiled and headed back upstairs only to find that Mary was nowhere to be seen and the door to 221B had been unlocked.

John walked upstairs, into his old flat, and eyed the room annoyingly. Inside, just as he had suspected, he found Mary and Sherlock sitting by the fire, the latter with a cup of tea in his hands. John took a deep breath and was about to speak when Sherlock placed his cup back on his lap and raised his head just as he spoke,

"John! Thank God you've arrived, you will be the one opening the door for our friends."

John cleared his throat and shifted his weight to his left foot, "Excuse me?"

"I said you'll be the one opening the door for our friends, didn't you hear me?"

John wrapped his fingers into fists, to relieve the frustration.

"Oh, Sherlock. Be nice, it's New Year's Eve," Mary said standing up and putting the bottle of Sparkling Wine on the fridge.

"I don't believe there are any rules to be kind or nice on New Year's. Usually it's Christmas. In any case, I am behaving like I always have, aren't I John?"

"Yes, just like an arsehole," John muttered.

He then took off his warm jacket and hung it behind the door, next to Mary's red coat. He fixed his Christmas sweater, a gift from his lovely wife, and rolled his shoulders back. The room was warm, unlike the freezing and merciless weather that hugged London. The flames of the fire seemed to cast a warm shadow and the glow of the room was orange and soft. If it hadn't been for the fact that Moriarty appeared to be back on the streets, Sherlock would have been enjoying the room and the people he found himself with.

"So you will be returning to your mind palace, then?" John asked, sitting down in his old red and black armchair. He had to admit he was glad Sherlock hadn't sold his armchair or done something else with it that might have proved he had forgotten about his friend.

"Yes, of course."

"You won't be joining us to celebrate the New Year?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Borrowing the flat for festive reunions does not mean I have to be there. You'd be celebrating anywhere else, otherwise. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to get back to," and with that, Sherlock closed his eyes, brought his hands close to his face in a sort of prayer, and left the real world.

Mary chuckled, "Well, that was fast."

"It certainly was," John observed his friend, who stood still as a statue, his eyes not even moving from behind the pale eyelids, "Why didn't you tell me Sherlock had opened the door?"

"Because he didn't. I did."

John blinked several times, shaking his head, "How-"

"Hair pin?" she took off the silver hair pin she had been keeping on her head to avoid her hair falling onto her face, "Trained assassin, remember? I know quite a lot of things."

John nodded and pursed his lips, "Yeah, sorry. Are we supposed to prepare everything while he works in his Mental Palace?"

"Apparently. Now, off you go and serve the snacks."

• ¥ •

It was around 11 o'clock that the party got noisy and fun. Mary, Molly, Tom (Molly's boyfriend at the time), Mrs Hudson, and John had gathered around the fire, different seats placed near the warm flames in an attempt to bring themselves closer to each other. The fire wasn't close to getting small and the drinks didn't seem to be running out. Even if a bottle was down to a few drops, someone else would get another bottle out and the party would continue.

Jokes and stories were passed on and laughs would erupt every now and then. Molly would cast a glance to Sherlock, expecting him to return from his Mind Palace. Though she was not the only one, John seemed to wish his friend would return and enjoy the party just like they were doing. Of course, that was not the case.

There was a knock on the door, the final knock. John got up, aware of who was standing behind it, and turned the knob. Once he opened it, he received the man with a firm and friendly handshake.

"Lestrade, you are the last one to arrive."

"Greetings, John. How is Mary doing with the pregnancy?" Lestrade asked.

"Great, never been better. Come on in," John stepped aside to let Greg in.

Once they were both inside, John closed the door and headed back to his armchair, where he was as comfortable as he could be. Lestrade took off his light grey coat and hung it just beside everyone else's. The sofa at the end of the room, behind Sherlock's desk, had been pushed forward to give them more space to sit, and so Lestrade used it. Mrs Hudson raised her glass and took a sip from her wine, setting it down.

"Sorry for being late. I have a division working on this case and I just left the office," he took the wine he was offered by Mary and drank it slowly.

"Sounds exciting! What is it now?" Mary asked, a smile spreading across her face, similar to the one a child on Christmas would have.

"It's a kidnapping, nothing big, but there hasn't been one in London for a long time."

Mrs Hudson raised her eyes and exclaimed, "I know about that one! It's been all over the news. That blonde single mother and her 12 year-old son, so sad to hear about that. She was so young, and her son so bright. They keep passing their stories on the news channel. I can't imagine how their family must feel."

"A woman and her son?" Mary asked, curious about it.

Molly and her boyfriend Tom were paying close attention to the talk, curious about the situation Greg found himself in. After all, he was right. London hadn't had a kidnapping case in a long time. And it wasn't any case, it involved a mother and her son.

"Yes, you might be seeing it on the news. Elisa Barrow and her son William Barrow, last seen on December 20," Lestrade set the cup on the table and leaned back, "We are putting everything into this case."

"Do you have any leads?" Tom asked, holding Molly's hand.

"Not really, we keep receiving different accounts."

Sherlock fluttered his eyelids and his eyes snapped open in a few seconds. He was back, finally. Everyone turned to look at him and John chuckled, bringing his drink close to his lips.

"I drink for Sherlock's return," John muttered and everyone giggled.

"Are you laughing at me?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Everyone laughed.

"You come back at the right time, as if had been called by the mysterious case of the vanishing mother and son," John wrapped his arm around Mary.

"I don't understand..." Sherlock frowned, but before he could continue, Mrs Hudson intervened and shifted the conversation.

"Play us something, Sherlock dear. It's nearly 12 and we haven't heard a single thing from you."

They all agreed on this. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Though it appeared that he was annoyed at their request, he was actually happy and proud to boast his artistic skills. He picked up his carefully kept violin and bow. While he prepared the bow by passing it through some special wax, he raised his head, and scanned the small crowd of friends that stood before him. He stood up and approached the black metallic music stand.

"Well, what would you like me to play?"

"Anything you haven't played before. New year, new songs," Mary tilted her head sideways, resting it on John's shoulder.

"I see," Sherlock muttered.

As he was passing through the different music scores, he couldn't help but notice one that stood out because of its tall, ragged, and slightly yellow paper. He passed the pages and stopped when he found that one. He felt the paper with his hand: old and worn yet never overused, he hadn't played it in a long time apparently. He raised his eyes, observing the title he had given to this piece: _Bright Days Follow_. He knew what song it was. Sherlock scanned the notes all the way until he reached the end. Just as he had expected, on the right corner at the end of the page it read _'For Cathy'_. And so he decided that _Bright Days Follow_ would be the one he was to play.

Sherlock brought his violin to his chin and the bow close to the strings. Then, slowly as the breeze would carry a feather, he began to follow the notes in the score with his violin, making the chatting drown in silence. Everyone stopped breathing and closed their eyes, feeling the soft music go through their ears and into their hearts and souls. The melody was romantic, nostalgic, and, just as the title read, longed for bright days. Just what they needed in their turbulent lives, with Moriarty coming back.

The music continued for some time, and ended with a long, deep note. He set the violin down and took a deep breath. Everyone clapped and he smiled, proud of his job. Deep inside him, he couldn't shake the memories that wanted to escape his heart with the music score.

"That was beautiful," Mary nodded her head in approval.

"Thank you. What time is it?"

The one answering was Tom, trying to keep up with Sherlock's mind, "11:57 pm."

"Ah, we should probably turn the telly on for the countdown," Sherlock muttered.

John, who was the most familiar with the flat, besides Sherlock, picked up the remote from the table and pointed it at the telly. With the push a button, the telly was on, leaving only the job of finding the channel where the countdown would take place. They turned around to see the telly and prepared their glass of Sparkling Wine, an alternative for Champagne. Everyone except Mary, who being the responsible woman she was, didn't drink alcohol, and Sherlock.

The available countdown and the one being played on every channel was being recorded on the South Bank of the Thames. A beautiful dark-skinned woman with long black curly hair stood awaiting the New Year with a microphone; the London Eye and the Thames behind her. Sherlock sat back on his black arm chair and rejected any drink offered by his colleagues.

"What are everyone's resolutions this year? For me, I'd like to get this hip to work properly-" Mrs Hudson was quickly interrupted by Sherlock.

"Do shut up and enjoy the countdown Mrs Hudson, as it is starting."

"Oh! Right!"

They all sat still, leaning forward and waited the countdown. Then, the woman began to count. As she neared the end of the countdown, the volume got louder, as if people were starting to join her. Even the group of friends at 221B Baker Street joined on the last 10 seconds.

_10... 9... 8... 7..._

Their voices grew louder.

_6.. 5... 4... 3..._

They raised their cups of Sparkling Wine. Sherlock sat looking at the telly nervously. Something was off about the place. Something was off about the event, the people, the lights. Something was off about New Year's.

_2... 1..._

"0! Happy New Year!" the woman shouted. The friends at 221B shouted. Everyone in England shouted.

Sherlock didn't. He stood up and approached the telly slowly, like a predator. He shushed everyone and shouted, "Listen!"

His friends stopped laughing and smiling. They didn't keep on drinking from their cups like they had been doing before. Instead, they glanced at Sherlock and then at the telly. Just as he had expected, something had truly been off. Just as the clock had struck midnight, the lights went out on the South Bank of the Thames and, as they would soon discover, all around it. Not a single light could be seen. Sherlock could hear the woman speaking to the cameraman in an angered whisper.

_'Use the flash. Turn it on. What do you mean you can't turn it on?' Give it to me, then._

His phone vibrated. He pulled his iPhone out of his inner suit pocket and slid his finger across the screen to see the text message he had received. It was not good news, at all. In fact, the message read:

_Happy New Year, Sherlock.  
_

__Enjoy the fireworks.  
_ _

__-JM_ _

"Oh my God!" Molly shouted, dropping her cup to the floor.

Gasps could be heard around the room. Sherlock raised his eyes and observed what was happening live on the telly.

Though there was no light on the South Bank, the camera was still recording. On the London Eye all its 32 capsules, numbered from 1-33, began to explode in various colours and time, as if they had been timed to explode one after the other. They were gigantic explosions, frightening explosions. Fire was shooting all around, reaching the sky. It didn't seem part of any plan. In fact, it appeared to be a terrorist attack. The loud explosions made people duck and run for cover. It sounded too loud, even with the volume turned down. But above all, what could be heard the most was the screams of the people who were on board and of those who had were trying to escape the attack.

Lestrade began to receive phone calls and text messages, "I need to go," there was urgency in his tone. He stood up and picked his coat, running for the door.

When the explosions were over, the fire still remained. Even that was planned. The light the fire appeared to cast lighted the enormous poster that hung on the London Eye, visible to everyone. On it, there wasn't any other face but the face of James Moriarty with its mouth still edited, just like on the video that had been circling on all channels. And above his edited face, it read _'Miss Me?'_.

**Author's Note:**

> This novel is a mystery as well as a case. As any Sherlock case, it requires real thinking and mindfulness. Checking over and over to avoid giving something away that wasn't meant to. One must be careful with what it writes in each chapter, in each line. Otherwise, the reader will find it dull and easy to guess. My novel won't be easy to guess, or that is what I commit to.
> 
> Fanfics are sometimes easy to write and sometimes they are not, as you may understand. You may write a chapter each week, or each day, and that is it. I, on the other hand, have to think it thoroughly before I post anything. I have to use notebooks, white boards, and papers two write the story line, which I often have to modify to leave it interesting till the end.
> 
> For these reasons, I won't be able to fully post the novel by the time the first episode of Sherlock series 4 comes out. Still, I won't leave you hanging in suspense, I will post a one-shot that also works as a chapter (a teaser, if you may). I believe I will be able to post my novel's chapters by the end of the third episode of Sherlock. Though I will post them on Wattpad, where I originally work.


End file.
